Caffeine and Adrenaline
by ZoeMehefin
Summary: Mormor AU- James Moriarty works weekends at a small coffee shop to fund his rather unusual habits. A regular patron soon becomes a very important person in his life. Rated M because...it's Moriarty and Moran there's no way I'm making it below a T.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: first off: working title, it may change.**

**second, this is my first AU, first Mormor oh and my first Sherlock fic all in one go. It's also my first fic based entirely around a ship. Basically this fic is a lot of firsts for me and I really hope you all like it.**

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He came in every Saturday morning at opening time, 9am. A few times I caught him waiting for me, watching me from a safe distance while I unlocked. He ordered a black coffee and a plain muffin. He sat at a table right at the back and stayed there until 1. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, fascinated. He was well dressed, Italian suit and gorgeous black leather gloves that glided off his hands while he ordered. He tipped well.

One morning he was late. 10am had passed and there was no sign of him. I turned to my co-worker, a short, wide elderly woman by the name of Janet.

"Do you think he's ill?" I asked. She looked at me.

"Who, the suit? You worry too much Jimmy."

I turned back to the present customers, mentally wishing Janet to scald herself. I detested being called that.

After a mundane day of serving the public, we closed. Janet claimed her arthritis was acting up and I was made to clean up on my own. It was 10pm before I left.

I took alleys home; I enjoyed the depraved feeling they had, the lingering aura of murder and crime. I was almost home when I heard a noise coming from a nearby pile of bin bags. I moved closer to it, intrigued by the prospect of a corpse or, even better, someone dying. I moved a bag with my foot, revealing the leg of the body. Excited I began to move more of the bags until the body was completely uncovered.

It was him.

Italian suit ripped, gloves missing, his face marred with blood and dirt. I filled with rage at the thought of him being dumped, discarded like the used condom that lay over his shoe. He deserved better. I reached towards him, wondering how long he had been here.

"You need help." I said as I supported him. He was groggy, but not unconscious.

"No hospital." He resisted my movements, blood spitting as he spoke.

"I said help." I replied as I began to walk. He allowed me to guide him the short distance to my home.


	2. Chapter 2

It was only once the suit man was lying on my sofa did I realise I'd made a mistake. My job at the coffee shop might have made me appear, for all intent and purposes, normal, but it was only to fund my true passion; Pathology and Thanatology. I had yet to find a way to make money off my hobby of finding and studying dead bodies as I had never attended a form of higher education and was unable to become a coroner because of it. My interests had led me to become disinterested in the living people surrounding me, except for this man.

My hands shook as I undressed him; it had been years since I'd last undressed someone with a pulse. I left his trousers on as his wounds were the worst on his upper body, and I didn't think he'd appreciate waking up in a strange house with only underwear on. Most of his injuries were bruises, things I couldn't do anything about. There was a deep gash outlining where his ribs ended. My hands hovered over him, unsure of what to do. If he was a body I'd just stitch it up, but he was alive and only just unconscious. I ran my hands through my hair and paced, trying to figure out what I'd have to do.

It was much later, early morning some time, when he finally awoke. I had fallen asleep with my head on the coffee table and was awoken by a voice.

"You're the coffee boy."

"You're the man in the suit." We stared at each other; he had only turned his head to look at me. There was a disturbingly long pause, neither of us sure what social behaviour was required for this kind of situation.

"Sebastian." He said eventually.

"James."

"Thank you James." he almost whispered.

"Don't mention it."

There was another pause. Sebastian sat up, glancing down at my handiwork before looking straight back into my eyes. He moved slowly and cautiously, like a cat. He shifted onto the floor on the other side of the coffee table. His hands flexed across the wood finish. I glanced at them before staring back at him. We stared at each other; I had no idea what he was trying to do. Was he trying to disturb me? I'd spent far too long in the company of cold dead eyes to be disturbed by them.

"This is a big house." He said eventually.

"I only rent two floors."

"You must have a lot of money."

"No." Sebastian raised his eyebrow at that.

"How much does a place like this cost anyway, to rent?"

"Quite a bit."

"More than a baristas' salary?"

"Substantially."

He smiled at this and stood very quickly, inspecting the room. I shot to my feet; the blanket I'd wrapped myself in fell down, revealing my lack of proper clothing. I'd lacked the hindsight to remove my uniform before addressing his wounds, so it was currently soaking in the sink. He looked at me; his eyes scanned me up and down.

"Clearly your nutrition hasn't suffered." he smirked and turned away from me. He walked through into the kitchen. I followed him, wondering why he was inspecting the place in such a manner. He turned around very suddenly closing the distance between us to mere centimetres. My eyes were about level with his lips. They were dry and I found myself wanting to offer him a drink of some kind.

"I have found myself suddenly homeless. May I stay here a while?" My mouth hung open for a moment.

"What?" he brushed past me and sat back down on the sofa, wincing slightly.

"I am in this condition because I did not wish to leave my apartment. My landlord was rather forceful on the matter."

"You and I have just met." I stood where the polished wood of the living room ended and the cold tiling of the kitchen began, watching as he moved a pillow to support him.

"I feel a kind of kindred spirit in you." He let his head fall backward and closed his eyes. "There aren't many who understand a distrust of hospitals, or are willing to obey the instructions of those who do."

"I could be a serial killer."

"Like I said; Kindred spirit."

Again we stared at each other for a while. I could hear the old man upstairs TV as he slept away his golden years, and the consistent foot traffic from outside.

"I'd like to show you something." I said. Sebastian nodded and stood. I gestured into the hallway and he began to walk.


	3. Chapter 3- Sanctuary

**a/n: my apologies for not really writing anything. You know, exams and life getting in the way.  
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My basement was my sanctuary; the only eyes that had ever been upon it were mine or dead. I walked behind Sebastian down the stairs; he was unsteady but not unstable. As we moved I thought of how I would dispose of him. I could snap his neck and say he fell down the stairs. Or wait until he went back to sleep and undo his stitches and throw him back in the alleyway, with a slit throat for good measure?

"This is fantastic." Sebastian's voice snapped me out of my planning. Fantastic?

"It's my hobby." I replied. Sebastian nodded, running his hands over the nearest corpse. I twitched slightly. The basement was square, with room for up to 4 tables and a large freezer taking up just over half the space. Only 2 of the tables were out at the moment, both with middle aged men lying on them. Car crash. White fabric covered their genitals, or in one man's case where his genitals should have been. Especially nasty car crash.

"What do you do with them?" Sebastian asked, inspecting the partial gentleman. He lifted the fabric and winced.

"Study them." I grabbed the clipboard from its nail on the wall. "Decomposition rates mostly. Although I do my own experiments sometimes." I scanned the chart before inspecting the men before me.

"Such as?" Sebastian amazed me. While we had seen each other many times during his visits, we had only properly met last night, where I had patched him up. Now he was in my sanctuary, inspecting my work and being _impressed_. Who was this man?

"What acids can dissolve human remains and how long it will take, if you can identify DNA after…and so on."

"Sounds like you'd make one hell of a killer."

"And you would know?" I joked. He stared at me, and took a limping but still intimidating step forward.

"Yes, yes I would."


End file.
